


Mistletoe

by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaLenore/pseuds/sussexbound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been years.  It’s been over 5 years since they first laid eyes on one another in that lab at Bart’s, and if John is perfectly honest with himself, there hasn’t been a day since where he hasn’t at least entertained the possibility of what is happening in this very moment.</p><p>It seemed impossible, insurmountable, and yet, in the end, it was as easy as taking a single step...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through the old hard drive tonight, and found this little snippet of a thing. I think it was originally going to be a part of something bigger, but that's never going to happen now, and I haven't posted anything here in a long while, so I thought I'd give it to you as is.
> 
> Christmas themed, and it's totally the wrong time of the year of that, but any time is a good time for holiday fluff, I wager.

“John…”

John grunts in response, as he tries vainly to scrape some sort of highly suspicious ochre-hued residue off the bottom of their good frying pan.

“John, come here.  I need you to look at something.”

“Little busy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“The frying pan isn’t important.”

John finally looks up with a sigh, and lets the pan clatter back into the sink.  “What?”

Sherlock is standing on the border between kitchen and lounge.  He’s groomed and dressed at some point, not a hair out of place, face freshly shaven, clothed in dark grey flat-front trousers, purple shirt, sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. 

“Come here,” Sherlock insists, as though he’s completely run out of patience.

“Tell me.”

“Come here,” Sherlock repeats.

John rolls his eyes to the ceiling but does as ordered.  He stops in front of Sherlock with a small huff, and a clench of his jaw.  “What?”

Sherlock looks down at him, with a look which is both familiar and distracting.  He smells incredible.  Something John cannot ignore now that he is standing so close.  It’s makes his patience run even thinner than before.  “Sherlock what is it you need me to look at?”

Sherlock’s lips twitch slightly as though he may be fighting back a smile.  he blinks twice, and then lifts a finger and points above his head.

John looks up at the small sprig of mistletoe that has been hanging from the ceiling since they returned from The Yard the night before.

“ _What_ is _that_?”  Sherlock asks.

“What does it look like?  It’s mistletoe.  Mrs. Hudson’s doing, I assume.  If you want it taken down, do it yourself.”

“I am taller.  That would be the logical choice.”

John glares.

“But, no.  I think I’ll leave it where it is.”

Sherlock is still staring up at it, while all John can do is stare at the long, pale column of Sherlock’s throat and frown.  “Yeah.  Okay.  Fine.  Do you need me for anything else, or can I…”

“A kiss is traditional,” Sherlock blurts, and then grows silent.  His eyes move from the ceiling, to John, and then quickly down to the few centimetres of floor between their feet.  

John’s frown deepens.  “Yeah, its—it’s some fertility thing, isn’t it?  Some Druid nonsense?”  

This must be for a case.  There’s most definitely some logic to this conversation that will explain away the almost flush John thinks he must be imagining on Sherlock’s cheeks, and the strange flutter in his own abdomen.

“What?  Oh—yes, yes, Druid, or—Norse, too, but that’s to do with murder.  Much less pleasant.”

John worries his bottom lip between his teeth, as his brow furrows in confusion.  “Okay…  So, is this to do with a case, or…?”

Sherlock is rubbing the fingertips of his right hand together in small circles, and there is very definitely a flush tinging his neck and cheeks.  “A case…  Yes…  No!”  He looks up, swallows hard, a muscle in his jaw jumps.

John cocks a brow.  “Not a case.  Okay.  So…”  And then things start to click into place.  Sherlock’s silence, the twitching of his fingers at his side, the extra attention to grooming so early in the morning, the cologne, which is hands down John’s favourite…  

But no.  No, no, no…  Therein lies madness.  John knows better than to let his mind wander down this road.  And yet…

“Hey…”  John softens his voice takes a step forward.  His heart is hammering in his chest.  “What’s this about, then?”  He’s so close now, that the tips of his socked feet are slotted between Sherlock’s oxford-clad ones.  

Sherlock’s breath is coming quick and shallow, though he appears to be trying to hide it.

John thinks that maybe he might try a direct question: _‘Are you flirting with me?’_.  But, the words seem stuck in his throat.  Too much risk.  What if he’s wrong?  What if he’s just being presumptuous? What if he has to endure another ‘married to my work’ speech after all these years…?

“Christmas.”

“What?”  

“Christmas, John.  It’s tradition.”

“To…”  John swallows dryly.  “To kiss under the mistletoe?  Yeah.  Tradition.  Sure.  Yeah.  Tradition, but…”

And then Sherlock is leaning in, pressing his lips against John’s forehead, just above his left eyebrow.  His lips are warm, and dry, and they tremble a little as he draws in a slow breath through his nose.  He pulls away again, just as quickly, eyes back on the floor.  “Merry Christmas, John.”

It feels like the air has just been sucked from the room.  “It’s not Christmas,” John hears himself say.

Sherlock’s eyes lift, meet his.  There is confusion there.  It’s written all over him.  “No…”

And then the shock must wear off, because awareness slams back into John like a lorry, the way his whole body is surging with warmth and arousal, the way Sherlock’s confusion is starting to give way to regret, and then fear.

“You missed,” John hears himself say, and then he is kissing Sherlock on the mouth, a firm and unmistakable press of lips; not heated ( _not yet_ ), but not likely to be mistaken as chaste either.  

Miracle of miracles, Sherlock responds.  A small, hum comes from the back of his throat, and he moves his lips against John’s, slow, careful, but obviously hungry, and unmistakably curious.  John let’s him; explores right back.  

It was easy.  It was so ridiculously easy.  Here they are snogging like a couple of teenagers in the kitchen, and John feels almost giddy with it.  

It’s been years.  It’s been over 5 years since they first laid eyes on one another in that lab at Bart’s, and if John is perfectly honest with himself, there hasn’t been a day since where he hasn’t at least entertained the possibility of what is happening in this very moment.

It seemed impossible, insurmountable, and yet, in the end, it was as easy as taking a single step, closing the almost imperceptible distance between them, and taking a chance.

 


End file.
